<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>What Do a Troll Shirt and a Dodge Neon Have in Common? by Dontaskdontpastel (Mistressaq)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437724">What Do a Troll Shirt and a Dodge Neon Have in Common?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistressaq/pseuds/Dontaskdontpastel'>Dontaskdontpastel (Mistressaq)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Most Popular Queens [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Car Accidents, Coughing, F/F, Health Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing fatal just warning ya, also someone coughs blood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:16:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistressaq/pseuds/Dontaskdontpastel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: After Ariel’s Prom Queen win, she and Mimi return to school under the mistaken impression that they are popular now. Meanwhile angst is happening with Ariel's sister Brooke and her maybe-girlfriend Bianca is kinda the only thing keeping her afloat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bianca Del Rio/Brooke Lynn Hytes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Most Popular Queens [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Do a Troll Shirt and a Dodge Neon Have in Common?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was originally a proper chapter but I'm making it a oneshot bc it's not necessary for the main plot okay bye<br/>also the song mentioned is "Hurry Up and Save Me" by Tiffany Giardina okay bye for real</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>All Brooke had to do was punch her younger sister’s door and the frail wood swung free according to her wishes. “Mimi,” she deadpanned loudly. “Your motorcycle’s parked behind my car.” Brooke shot Ariel’s friend a glare. “Can you move it </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the far side of her room Ariel squawked “We’ll be out in a minute!” The girl examined herself in the six-inch-wide mirror she shared with Mimi. “We’re just getting ready for school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke thought about making a comment about how neither girl dressed like they’d ever seen a mirror, but thought better of it when she remembered what she was wearing. The only time she really gave a shit about her outfit was when she went to visit Bianca at her apartment. Bianca knew Brooke was a mess, she didn’t have to prove the point by dressing like she’d just crawled out of a ditch. Which was, incidentally where she’d found the top Ariel was wearing now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her silence gave Mimi the chance to say “Yeah, we’re the popular girls now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke crossed her arms across her chest and cocked an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s true, Brooke!” Ariel defended. “We are the popular girls now. And popular girls take their time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt it matters how long it takes to put on a troll shirt.” Brooke turned to leave the room. “Just hurry,” she told Mimi. “I have a doctor’s appointment. I coughed blood the other day and I’m waiting for the good news that I’m finally dying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be ready when we’re ready!” yelled Ariel, turning back to the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke rested a clenched fist on the doorframe and glared into the mirror. She looked like a ghost with her pale skin and black loose-fitting clothing. She took a breath like Bianca told her. Brooke threatened her sister through gritted teeth. “How about you be ready </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> or else those four episodes of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shadowhunters</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the DVR get ‘accidentally’ erased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel’s face cracked. “You wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really?” Brooke took in a sharp breath. “I’ve taken to smoking illicit substances directly below the fire alarms at my work just to feel alive. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have nothing left to lose.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel looked to Mimi. “We should probably get going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My life was alright living in black and white</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But you changed my point of view</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Show me your colours</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Show me your colours</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cuz without you I'm blue</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On her way back from the doctor’s office, Brooke cranked up the sound on her Spotify. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts right now. She’d thought some angsty music from the 2000’s would calm her panic, but it didn’t help that the song playing reminded her of the old woman who made her realize that despite her constant half-joking, Brooke didn’t actually want to die. Not when they were together, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca had told her to come straight to the apartment afterward. She pulled around a corner too fast. Another car honked at her. Brooke felt her joints vibrating, her body threatening to rip itself apart at the seams. She knew Bianca’s shitty apartment was around here somewhere--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hurry up and save me</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hurry up and save me</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I just wanna feel alive</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And I do when I'm with you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth was dry. Her skin felt hot. Stars danced in front of Brooke’s stinging eyes. Behind them she saw the turn. She cranked the wheel into the lot and went to pull into a parking spot against the fence that separated the apartment complex from the old textile mill. But the car didn’t stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hurry up and save me</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hurry up and save me</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>IIIIIIIII just wanna feel alive</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And I do when I'm with you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke floored the Neon’s brake pedal but the car didn’t respond. It just kept rolling straight at the abandoned building, which wouldn’t have been so worrying if there weren’t a huge-ass ditch between here and there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a god thing her driver's seatbelt buckle had irrevocably jammed about six years ago because Brooke just barely had enough time to flick the door unlocked, yank it open and barrel-roll out of the metal deathtrap before the black-and-white vehicle that was older than her sister took down the chain-link fence on its voyage into the ditch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke was watching what had recently been her car leech thick smoke into the air when she heard a familiar throaty voice calling out to her. She turned around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman was running down the stairs, probably two at a time, to get to Brooke. The younger of the two wanted to call back, tell her to be careful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You mean too much to me to watch you wipe out and break your neck on the stairs.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke tried to shakily get to her feet but her ankle gave out and she tumbled back to the tarmac. Bianca was at her side in an instant, with her on the ground. Her hands prodded Brooke’s shoulders, arms, the sides of her face. Brooke watched Bianca’s frightened eyes as she checked and rechecked Brooke, making doubly sure her body was okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” was the only thing she could croak out. It was a pitiful sound; Brooke pitied </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the sound of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca sat back and clutched at her chest. “Bitch, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>old</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you can’t go scaring me like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m. I’m sorry,” whispered Brooke. Her eyes burned, flooding her face with hot rivulets of shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca registered the direness of the situation. Brooke didn’t cry. She denied and she deflected and she medicated. Bianca placed her hands on the younger woman, one on the side of Brooke’s face, reassuring. The other Bianca used to swipe the girl's forehead, half testing for a fever, half wiping away the sweat that had already popped up on Brooke’s white skin. The 27-year old leaned into Bianca’s gentle touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke’s mouth twitched as she tried to explain, failing to get air past her vocal chords. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh,” Bianca said. “Don’t try to talk, it’s gonna be allright, Cher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman quieted at her words. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just wanna feel alive</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And I do when I'm with you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca lifted Brooke’s face. One look into those grey-blue eyes and once again Brooke’s walls melted away. She was eager to follow orders, power she only let Bianca have. Because Bianca knew Brooke better than she knew herself. She knew when she’d used, when she’d snuck around, when she’d fucked up. And Bianca always reminded her that she was still worth more than she gave herself credit for. Being with Bianca was addicting, and if there was one thing Brooke was a connoisseur of, it was addictions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Bianca pulled their faces closer, Brooke remembered that Bianca was the only other person she cared about who lived or died. And she really wanted Bianca Del Rio alive. Brooke pulled away. “I can’t let you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca moved her hand to support the other woman’s lower back, one of Brooke’s favorite spots she let only Bianca touch. “How come?” Bianca asked in a hushed tone, whispering despite their solitude in the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke pulled her right sleeve all the way up to reveal a tiny red dot. When Bianca only looked more confused, Brooke confessed “They’re testing me for TB.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shock and confusion split across Bianca’s face like the ground submitting to an earthquake. She barked a humorless laugh. “What the fuck? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Consumption</span>
  </em>
  <span>?! That’s still a thing?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke pushed her sleeve back down. “The doctor said it’s,” she did air quotes “ ‘unlikely’ but we need to ‘take precautions’ seeing as I’m ‘at risk’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca shook her head. “ ‘At risk’? Did the family take a trip to Ethiopia over winter break?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke bowed her head in shame. “Can we not talk about this here?” She looked toward Bianca’s second floor apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman nodded and extended her arm. “Okay, let me help you,” she said gently before issuing the order. “Get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel bounced as she walked down the hall. “Isn’t it great being popular now?” she asked Mimi cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” remarked Mimi. “Everything feels so different!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A guy made his way down the hall. Ariel leaned against the lockers, trying to look chill. “Sup, bro?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just kept walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel turned to Mimi and excitedly slapped her friend on the arm. “Did you see that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” was Mimi’s reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He gets it,” Ariel smiled proudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mimi shook her head. “He didn’t even curse us out or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel linked Mimi’s arms in her own as they made their way down the hall. “Welcome to the new reality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, the cheer trio rounded the corner in perfect formation. Katya typed away on her phone and awed at something cute her football player boyfriend had said. She showed Valentina, who smiled in approval. Willam marched on, fists clenched, sour look on her face; pissed off about something as usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel approached the triad as equals. “Hey, what’s up sluts!” She greeted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are we all doin’ later?” asked Mimi. “Some real popular girl stuff like sex with boys or shopping with our parents’ money?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you talking about?” Willam asked, hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Ariel began slyly. “Us popular queens need to stick together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valentina’s laugh was ill-natured. “Oh? My. GAWD. You think just because you won prom queen that makes you </span>
  <em>
    <span>popular</span>
  </em>
  <span> now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, even I’m not that stupid,” added Katya. She barely looked up from her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel’s chest ached. Her lip quivered. “But… I gave a blowjay to every boy in school,” she said weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I was watching the door!” Mimi added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya nodded approvingly ather. “So important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that doesn’t make you popular, that just makes you a whore.” Valentina explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” tried Mimi. “Willam’s a whore and </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> popular.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Willam’s also a cheerleader,” Valentina continued. “It’s easy to be a whore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Willam nodded. “It’s super easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In order to be popular, you have to combine your whorishness with another talent,” said Valentina. “Like cheerleading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The head cheerleader leaned down to meet the eye level of Ariel and Mimi. “And the only other marketable skills </span>
  <em>
    <span>you two</span>
  </em>
  <span> have is your mouths.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Arie’s lip quivered. “What you’re saying is… we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>popular?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Willam blurted a laugh. “The day I hang out with you is the day I use a fucking condom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah-wait what?” Valentina spun to face her friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should really be using condoms every time; anal sex can still lead to pregnancy. Plus the increased risk of contracting HIV,” Katya informed. After her first encounter with Matt, she’d made it her mission to become a sex expert. She had done a lot of research. No, like actual medical research.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Willam rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s true!” Mimi said too proudly. “It’s how I was conceived!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other four girls in the hall didn’t really know what to say to that, so a second of awkward silence ensued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably go,” said Valentina at last. “It would be a shame if we ditched class just to explain to you morons how the world works.” She gave a signal to Willam, who stayed behind when the other cheerleaders left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel tried to hold herself high in Willam’s shadow. The taller girl took in a deep breath. She built up her speech like you’d rev up an old lawnmower. “Well… looks like it’s time… for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To Shut The Fuck UP, ARIEL VERSACE! Why don’t you go eat dogshit like you did in the GODDAMN THIRD GRADE?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Willam brushed past the unpopular queens, scuffing Mimi’s shoulder as she took off in the same direction as her friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel started her characteristic whining; Mimi rested a hand on her friend’s shoulder. The smaller girl caught herself and made a decision. She set her jaw and took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said to herself, her voice softer than even a whisper. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Today, you do not get my tears, Willam Belli</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute,” said Mimi. “Did you really eat dogshit in the third grade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I THOUGHT IT WAS SOMETHING ELSE!” Ariel blurted, louder than she meant it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mimi nodded slowly, slightly afraid of her friend. She’d just gone from zero to a hundred in less than a second. She didn’t trust that kind of mood swing; it reminded Mimi too much of Brooke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca’s arm steadied Brooke up the steps. She’d been trying to keep a lid on it, but once she was in the relative safety of the apartment, the shock hit Brooke head-on. She slid down to the floor in the middle of the hallway and curled herself into the fetal position. The earth spun. Her breath came in arrhythmic rasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to have control of myself</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My thoughts, my mind</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca kept trying to get her up, trying to coax Brooke to at least make it to the couch. The girl just muttered over and over “I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her body shuddered and convulsed without her consent. What makeup she’d applied washed down the sides of her face, flooded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca had no choice left. She grabbed Brooke by the hair, lifting her head up not-so-gently, and slapped her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke stopped. Her shocked eyes stared wide at Bianca. She watched the woman’s mouth. “Get. Up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her response was robotic. “I can't.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Try.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bianca’s mouth pulled the word wide. Her hands were at the back of Brooke’s head and supporting her lower back. She lifted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke weakly kicked her legs, trying to make them work. Her hands gripped Bianca’s waist and one of her arms. Her mouth went to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, but Bianca caught her. Once again she forced the younger woman to look only at herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word relaxed Brooke’s shoulders, supported against Bianca. It helped push her legs underneath her, placed for use. It filled her body with helium as she pushed herself up, lightened by the promise of the word and by the trust and Bianca’s help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, they made their way forward. The couch was so close. Bianca held her close, kept her steady as they leaned against one another and slowly, carefully lowered down onto the cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you feeling me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cuz the way you make</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My break, my shake, my walls around</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel like I'm breaking out</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once her weight was off of her legs, Brooke let her whole body collapse, comforted by the familiar couch and by Bianca. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bianca</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A feeling washed over Brooke. Something she hadn’t felt in a long while. And all she wanted to do was bury herself in Bianca, to open the woman's chest, crawl inside and live there, always warm and protected. Then she remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” She went to lunge away, but her depleted energy and lightheadedness kept her on the couch. That and Bianca’s firm grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah,” Bianca steadied her. “Calm your tits, I took the day off, so did you, remember? We’ve got all the time in the world.” Brooke relaxed slightly and allowed Bianca to pull her back into her arms. “How’s it going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might be dying and exposing the one person I care about to the same disease.” Brooke let out a choke/laugh. “How’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wednesday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca looked directly into her soul, trying to communicate something she couldn’t place. She caressed the side of Brooke’s face, wiping away a clump of mascara from her tear-stained cheek. Brooke leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to tell me,” she went slowly with her words, letting Brooke take her time processing. “Slowly, from the beginning, taking deep breaths in between… I want you to tell me, beat by beat what happened at the doctor’s office this morning. Take as long as you need, and when you come to the explanation of why your car is in the ditch outside my apartment, you can stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke took a shaky breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>... </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooke tried to keep calm as she crunched a glossy gossip magazine between her damp palms. A mother bounced her baby on her shoulder while he coughed and gasped. Somebody hadn’t gotten the pertussis vaccine. There were a crew of elderly people reading large print novels and a fluish-looking guy in the waiting room with her. She thought about calling Bianca but that would be sad--she couldn’t even make it through the waiting room without the woman’s help. How bad at adulting could she be?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She tried to think about anything but what had happened Sunday. It had been a great session--she and Bianca had bonded over service industry horror stories, red wine and pot. Inhibitions gone, the making out had started again. It all went south when they’d started laughing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooke laughed and laughed but something was tight in her chest. Stiff, and she coughed, trying to clear her airways. When it didn’t work, she kept coughing and coughing until she couldn’t stop. Her head pounded and she was doubled over, using the coffee table to support herself while Bianca rubbed and patted her back. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She coughed and spluttered into her elbow; her heart dropped when she tasted metal. She heard Bianca gasp. Brooke was still coughing, only now her mouth was full of blood.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bianca had tried to make Brooke go to the emergency room, but the fit subsided soon enough and, minus the lingering coppery taste in the back of her throat and the rawness there, she felt fine. Plus, she’d argued, ER bills are crazy expensive; Brooke was making minimum wage and still living with her parents. Bianca eventually let up under the conditions that Brooke would 1) let Bianca watch over her during the night to make sure she kept breathing, 2) agree to not smoke anything for the next 24 hours, and 3) make an appointment to see a doctor. Reluctantly, Brooke had agreed. The fit had taken a lot out of her and at this point so long as she got her way, she was happy.  She’d fallen asleep on Bianca’s lap within the half hour.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By the time the nurse called her name, half of the elders had been seen. The nurse didn’t ask too many questions--just took her blood pressure (high, likely due to anxiety) and pulled a couple of tubes of blood out of Brooke (she had to take it from the hand because she was dehydrated). When the nurse handed Brooke a paper cup, she put her foot down. “If I’m too dehydrated for you to get a good blood vessel with a needle, what makes you think I’m able to piss on command?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The nurse’s name tag said Anika and she looked about the same age as Brooke, possibly younger. She asked Brooke if she wanted to try anyway, to which Brooke merely glared. Anika laughed healthily and said she had to ask. Brooke knew the pain of being forced to ask questions that didn’t really matter. ‘Would you like to hear about our new skinnylicious menu?’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anika left Brooke alone in the exam room to wait for the doctor. Posters on the anatomy of the human body decorated the white plaster walls. She remembered a time when she could list every one of the words on the glossy page. There was a mirror. She examined her hair, crunchy as the wax paper beneath her on the seat. Brown roots wound their way from her part down the cracked and dyed stalks. What she’d give to chop it all off and dye it neon yellow, just to piss off the old ladies who came into her work once a week and told her everything wrong about herself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,” she whispered, not really knowing what she was talking about.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The doctor swung the door open. He looked like Donald Trump if he went on Weight Watchers and dialed it back on the fake tan. He introduced himself and asked why Brooke thought she might have coughed blood if she didn’t think it was serious enough to go to the emergency room. There was a smugness about him that Brooke appreciated, but he was still a doctor, so she still wasn’t a fan.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m the patient--you’re supposed to tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>me </span>
  <em>
    <span>why I started re-enacting </span>
  </em>
  <span>Les Mis </span>
  <em>
    <span>last Sunday</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well under drug use you wrote ‘ask me’ so...” The doctor shrugged, not dismissively. “I do need to know these things if you want an accurate diagnosis. I’m not here to judge you, I just need to know.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooke pursed her lips, shifting in the uncomfortable chair. “I…” she pushed a chunk of cracking hair behind her ear. “I recently--like four or five days ago recently--started finding my way out of a bad place. And I think what I exposed myself to before is fucking me over now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The doctor nodded. “Fair theory. Can I get some details as to what some of the things were that you exposed yourself to?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooke leaned back, averting her eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Miss Hytes” Brooke bristled at his use of her maiden name. “ I’m not a cop. Legally, in fact, I </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> inform the police.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooke’s shoulders fell. She lifted her chin. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The doctor continued, “I’m not here to get you or anyone else in trouble, I’m just here to make sure you’re healthy.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooke confessed to the inhalants--glue and paint thinner being her personal favorites. She spent too much time over Christmas cuddled up with some homeless guys who she later found out were positive for HIV (She told the doctor she’d been tested as soon as she found out) and that two of those guys ended up with TB, one of whom died from it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The doctor asked if, when she did her inhalants, if her nose ever bled afterwards. She said yes, of course sometimes. Brooke tried to ask him if she could have TB, since she looked up the symptoms and identified with fatigue, loss of appetite and weight loss. The doctor said it was possible, then he did the test. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t seem right to me, Brooke.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca chose her next words carefully. “It seems like the doctor doesn’t believe you have TB; did </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>ask for the test or did you want it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, of course I wanted it--if I caught tuberculosis, I want to know so I don’t go around infecting you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Back off, Bianca.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The older woman evened out her tone, forcing her own energy to neutralize so Brooke didn’t get carried away. “What did the doctor seem to think it actually was?” Her voice was gentle as she forced the younger woman to look her in the eyes while she said her piece. It would be harder to lie that way, and the lying was becoming a problem. Bianca could tell Brooke was walling off her emotions again. Openness was what their relationship -- whatever that might be -- was for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke sighed. “He said something about, when you have blood in your airways, like nosebleeds, sometimes the blood drains into the lungs and stays there until it’s coughed up?” She shook her head. “But that’s so fucking stupid I didn’t even give it a second thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca didn’t react. “So when do you find out if you’re dying of consumption?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke rubbed the place on her arm she’d shown to Bianca earlier. “I go back in on Friday for him to check the skin test. He didn’t say when the blood tests would be back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few moments of silence before Bianca poked Brooke in the arm. “Hey, we should probably file an insurance claim for the smoking beater in the ditch out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke whined and laid back against the arm of the couch. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>wiped</span>
  </em>
  <span>, can’t you do it for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bianca sighed and stood up. Brooke smiled. “Where’s your insurance shit?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke’s eyes widened. “In my car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have backups or am I gonna have to go ditch diving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke dug out her phone from her pocket and handed it to Bianca. In her great escape from the doomed vehicle, the screen had cracked. Before Bianca could ask what the password was, Brooke was asleep. Deciding to try and just guess the passcode, Bianca went to open the phone and found that Brooke didn’t have it locked at all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thought Bianca. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should have guessed. The woman doesn’t give a shit about security.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Brooke curled and shimmied herself into a more comfortable position, burying her face in the couch. Bianca stopped, just watching the woman. She cooed a little and quickly fell back into a deep sleep. Looking so innocent and childlike, all curled up like that, it reminded Bianca of just how high Brooke’s walls are usually built up… except when they were together. And Bianca got the sense that Brooke would only ever let herself be this comfortable if she felt extremely safe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Security</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bianca laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl had never felt so secure in her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My window's opened up</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight I'm crawling out</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will you be there are you waiting?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will you be there will you save me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Psst. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Psst</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel and Mimi turned to see a girl who was obviously Phi Phi O'Hara in a trench coat and aviators peeking out from behind a pad of lockers. They just looked at each other, then back to Phi Phi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phi Phi left her hiding place and approached the girls. “I heard you two were having a problem with the cheer squad,” she said, trying to disguise her voice and failing miserably. She sounded like Christian Bale if he’d been on estrogen for five years. She adjusted her aviators. “Maybe I can help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ariel shook her head. “No, thank you. We already kind of did that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” supplied Mimi sadly. “Didn’t go over too well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half of Ariel’s mouth pulled down. “We’re just gonna go do our own thing now for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phi Phi nodded “Cool, cool, cool, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they walked away, Ariel took a deep reassuring breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let them go</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she told herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The cheer squad have no shortage of enemies…</span>
  </em>
  <span>she smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Including me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>